When the judge cut the eight of them loose, and all five hundred of them negroes stood up at once, I thought for sure either I was gonna die, or I’d have blood on my hands before I got out of that courtroom.

I ain’t never heard no other noise like that. The shuffle of shoes against wooden floors, the stomp of heels hitting the ground, the drawing in of breath, all in unison.

I swear to God, the fat bailiff next to me half pissed himself.

I wasn’t much better. I tried to remember what that girl I’d had a month back looked like naked, and just why she’d agreed to the tryst in the first place. I figured if I was going to have a last thought, I’d make it a fun one.

But, as the eight Klansmen filed out to the whoops and hollers of their kind, them negroes just stood silent, watching, like they were saying more with their mute witness than any lawyer had said over the course of this whole case.

Then, they all filed out together, not saying anyone to anything, just movin’ on.

I think that’s when I remembered to breathe again.

Memphis Note
In 1874 a group of Klu Klux Klansmen lynched 16 blacks in Gibson County, Tennessee. Their trial was held here in Memphis. The judge freed all eight of the men that were charged, while five hundred blacks watched on, knowing that this country’s courts were not for them.

Jeanine found him slumped over his desk in the study. She went from elated that he might be dead to disgusted when she realized he was crying to himself.

“Darling! They’ve finally done it.” He moaned as she approached. “Those damn orthodoxy bastard, they’ve killed my business! They won’t let me sell cocaine. Not like I used to. All that income – it’s going to disappear!”

Her slap came out of nowhere, catching him mid-sob.

“Murray, you are a terrible husband, an absent father and a pathetic lover. And, so help me God, if you don’t keep me comfortable, I’ll let all your new country club friends know that you bought your way up to their level by selling drugs to the negroes.”

Pulling her new mink stole tight, she stepped back from him.

“So, if they won’t let you sell it like you used to, find a new way to sell it. The demand isn’t going to go away, prices are just going to go up. Time to be big, Murray, bigger than you’ve ever been.”

She planted a cold, hard kiss on his cheek then left him alone in the darkened study.

He’d never felt so small before.

Memphis Note
At first, Memphis’s cocaine laws were as lax as its liquor laws. But then, racism was introduced into the anti-drug equation, and attitudes began to change. The first big step toward prohibition of the drug was when the city voted to ban the sale of less than a pound of cocaine to anyone with out a prescription. A pound being much more than any normal addict could hope to afford. Sadly, all this did was push the drug underground and create even more crime around it.

The mortar exploded into a monstrously satisfying boom and shower of neon sparks in the sky above them. Off in the distance, a car alarm set off by the shockwave howled in protest.

“Heck yeah!” Clifford shouted as he dug another beer from the rapidly emptying cooler. “Didn’t I tell you guys, cop don’t care nothin’ ‘bout any of this.”

Clifford and his friends were set up in an unfinished part of the subdivision, and had been shooting off fireworks since dusk. Which was a few hours ago, judging by the rate the cooler was emptying.

He’d blown a weeks pay on fireworks down in Mississippi, but it had been completely worth it. Tonight was about perfect for Clifford.

Then he sniffed the air. Something was…burning. And not firework burning, but burning burning. He stuck his head up and looked around like a prairie dog.

Across the street behind them, a half-built model house was wreathed in flames.

There were scorch marks dotting the ground, leading away from his friends, toward the house. Some of the fireworks must’ve gone wrong in wind, he figured.

The flames roared higher and Clifford’s mouth went dry.

“Grab the beer and run!”

Memphis Note
Inside of the Memphis city limits, it is illegal to shoot off any kind of firework more dangerous than sparkler – and I think those might even be verboten. But, that doesn’t stop thousands of Memphis from trekking across to Mississippi or Arkansas, stopping at a gas station to stock up on beer and high explosives, then heading back home to show everyone how the 4th of July is done right.

From the force with which his door was swept aside, the Provost Marshal was expecting a twister to appear in the midst of his office, not blonde of the fairer sex, dressed in her finest.

“I mean to speak with you.” She spoke directly, not waiting for any acknowledgement before continuing. “I require of you a divorce. Effective immediately. The man to which I am married is a cad, and I will no longer suffer his mercurial affections. I have a good man waiting in his stead, and I don’t intend to keep him waiting.”

She stopped, squinted in thought, then continued.

“And I shall also need a guard, to keep the cad away from the other, lest he tease my new husband.”

The Marshal paused a moment, regarding her, cleared his throat and then spoke, deliberately and slowly.

“Madame, I assure you, the only kind of divorce I grant comes at the behest of lead or steel. Unfortunately, a divorce by paper is one beyond my scope.”

At this she froze, then unleashed a torrent of profanity that would blanche his most battle-hardened sergeant.

And the Marshal then found himself doing something most unexpected.


He pitied her husbands.

Memphis Note
The preceding has been a fictionalized account of a real incident from the logs of the Provost Marshal of Memphis during the Union occupation. Which, I think, tells you everything you need to know about Southern women.

Crump fumed in the overstuffed chair, chomping on the end of a lit cigar. His aides glanced nervously at each other. They were in quite a quandary, and Boss Crump hated quandaries. The judge had ruled that he couldn’t hold both the sheriff’s and mayor’s offices at the same time, and it was too late to get their man on the ballot for the vote.

Crump leaned forward.

“You ever seen one of those trained crows that writes its own name? Stupid bird’s got no idea what it’s writing, it just knows how to put lines down on paper to get a treat.

“Now, near as I can figure, even the simplest human brain should be as smart as a crow’s.

“Gentlemen, I propose we teach the population of Memphis to scratch out a name, just like a trained crow.”

“A write-in win? Is that even possible?” Asked a man in the back.

“I once bought an election by paying the poll tax for every negro that voted for me, and even then, I only won by 79 votes. This isn’t even close to the heights of lunacy I’m willing to climb. Get to teaching crows to write, boys.”

Memphis Note
Boss Crump’s first major political mistake was attempting to hold both the offices of city mayor and county sheriff. When the courts finally ruled against him on the matter, it was too late for Crump to get his chosen man on the ballot. So, he organized a write-in campaign. And to ensure his man wouldn’t lose, his people taught illiterate voters how to write his candidate’s name,”Reichman.”